


not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [21]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War I, Authority, Background Violence, Blow Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pornalot Challenge #1, Semi-Public Sex, oblique mentions of shell shock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7769632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WWI AU. Merlin followed Arthur into this war; he'll be damned if he lets it destroy him.</p><p>Inspired by Pornalot Challenge #1: Authority and my "AU: Historical" trope_bingo square.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** Oblique references to shell-shock and background violence. Semi-public oral sex.
> 
> Second place winner for Pornalot Challenge #1: Authority (and yes, I am unjustifiably proud of this fact). Title from Wilfred Owen's [_Anthem for Doomed Youth_](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/47393).

 

The guns wake Arthur shortly before dawn. Merlin, who has been up for half an hour already, arrives just as he is rolling out of bed, hands him a battered tin mug of what passes for tea in the dug-out, along with a plate of what passes for breakfast, and salutes, although not crisply.   
  
“Morning, sir.”  
  
“Good morning, Merlin.” Arthur smiles at him with his eyes. “What’s the news?”  
  
“Still a bloody great mess out there, sir,” Merlin says, waiting until Arthur smiles with his whole face before adding softly, “We’ll be over the top tomorrow, sir. Orders just came through.”  
  
The smile dies. “And our reserve?”  
  
“Delayed.” They exchange a speaking glance. Some days Merlin is certain he has dreamed this conversation, they’ve had it so many times. Arthur sighs, drinks his tea with a wince and pushes the breakfast tray away, ignoring Merlin’s frown.   
  
“Very well, then,” he says. “Up and at them, as they say.”  
  
The cheerfulness takes effort; Merlin can see it, even if no one else can. He helps Arthur into his uniform, brushing fastidiously at the mud which has worked its way into the woollen sleeves and tweaking the collar until it sits just so. It’s unnecessary, since they’re all of them up to their elbows in muck most of the time, but it allows him a moment to get his feelings under control. Arthur watches him as he fusses, patient, then says with wry amusement, “How uncharacteristically thoughtful, Merlin. Should I also expect a surprise inspection? Is the General coming to tea?”  
  
“You never know, sir,” Merlin says, but he’s blushing. “Always pays to be prepared.”  
  
“So I’ve heard.” Arthur snorts, then lets the moment slide. “Go and fetch Gwaine and Lancelot for me, will you? I’ll need to speak with them.”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
A shell-blast detonates somewhere close by, sending Merlin staggering before he can get to the door. Debris rains from the ceiling. Arthur, seated now, barely falters, but his hand when he reaches for his shaving kit is shaking.   
  
“Arthur…”  
  
“I’m all right,” Arthur says, jerking his arm back and nearly knocking over the paraffin lamp. He catches it at the last second, slopping oil all over the desk. “Oh, blast it.”  
  
“Let me,” Merlin says, crossing the room quickly to sop up the spill. Arthur pushes his chair back, running a hand through his hair, then looks at his still-trembling hands with a moue of disgust.  
  
“It’s only because of the noise,” he says, almost apologetically. “They’re so damned loud.”  
  
Merlin says nothing. He looks down at Arthur, half turned away from him, one hand flat on the tabletop and the other balled into a fist to keep from trembling. Before he can second-guess himself, he chucks his oil-soaked handkerchief aside and steps forward. Arthur’s eyes snap up to meet his, wide and half-frightened, and this time Merlin can’t restrain the need to touch, his thumb pressing into Arthur’s lower lip as he cups the other man’s jaw.  
  
“What are you doing?” Arthur asks hoarsely, pulling back even as his pupils darken. “Merlin, we can’t — “  
  
“Shh.” Merlin leans in to kiss him, pushing, pushing, stretching the moment as long as he can, and then Arthur is surging up to meet him, fingers fisting in Merlin’s shirt and dragging him into his lap. Merlin licks along the seam of his lips and into the heat of his mouth and Arthur opens to him willingly, his hands settling onto Merlin’s waist.   
  
There isn’t much time. Dawn will always eventually make its way down to them, and the rest of the battalion is already stirring, but it’s been so long that it won’t take much for either of them. Merlin slides off Arthur’s lap and onto his knees in the dirt, unbuckles Arthur’s belt and takes him into his mouth. Arthur is half-hard just from kissing, and Merlin mouths at him gently, coaxing with tongue and fist until Arthur groans and begins to fill, his hips hitching slightly in spite of himself. Arthur’s hands grip his hair, shoving his helmet back so that it falls to the floor.  
  
“Please,” he whispers. Merlin hums in answer, flicking Arthur’s frenulum with his tongue before drawing breath and taking him in deep again. Arthur arches helplessly under him, making a soft ‘uh’ sound as his head falls back, his whole body shuddering with the effort of remaining silent. Every bitten-off moan and cry he fails to suppress makes Merlin’s cock harden, and he palms himself sharply as he works, finding a stuttering, urgent rhythm that matches Arthur’s aborted thrusts. Outside, the German shells are drawing closer, irregular as a failing clock, accompanied by the rat-a-tat of machine-gun fire. Arthur tenses, distracted, until Merlin scrapes his teeth over the vein of his cock and he jerks, hissing, “Oh,  _fuck_ ,” and falls apart without warning, nearly making Merlin choke as the sudden flood of come hits his tongue.   
  
Afterwards, Arthur hauls him upright, bussing his cheeks, his throat, his eyelids, then kissing the taste of himself out of Merlin’s mouth. “You,” he says, then stops, apparently unable to put words to the event. “Are you — do you want me to — ?”  
  
Merlin shakes his head. “It's fine,” he says, choosing not to divulge the fact that he had come when Arthur did, the moment those strong fingers tightened in his hair. “We should — I need to get you cleaned up.”  
  
Arthur allows himself to be disentangled and gently set to rights, his gaze hot and weighty as he studies Merlin’s expression. Merlin wonders if he’s expecting embarrassment or regret, for all that this isn’t the first time between them. Instead, when Merlin is done Arthur tugs him closer and kisses him again, the desperation of it making Merlin’s toes curl inside his regulation boots. He smells of heavy sex and that one last lingering summer before the war, and when his broad hands bracket Merlin’s shoulders and hold on, this time he’s not trembling at all.


End file.
